


He Kept the Morning Glory for Months

by makena



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Autism, Depression, Gen, Hospital, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Mental Illness, Trichotillomania, josh's 1st day at the psych ward, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makena/pseuds/makena
Summary: In which Josh can barely talk anymore, Tyler picks him a flower, and the sun is obscured by smoky clouds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings!!! - implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, trichotillomania, mention of drugs and medication, description of anxiety attacks and depression
> 
> [translation into русский язык available](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5067917)

The sun is obscured by smoky clouds, giving the world a warm, yellow quality. If you were to stand outside Josh’s house, your face would be lit up by pale orange light.

If you were to stand inside Josh’s house, you would find a boy lying in a dark bedroom, his body surrounded by white sheets and his mind surrounded by white noise.

He receives a text message from his mother, who often texts him instead of talking to him directly these days because social interactions cause Josh’s pupils to dilate in fear and his voice box to shut down. _I heard back from the hospital,_ his phone reads. _They can take you tomorrow._

Does Josh need to go to the hospital? The hospital is where they send boys whose bodies cannot take the stress of conversing with their own mothers. Boys who lie in their white sheets for months at a time, unable to go to school or make themselves a meal. Whose bones whisper to them in the night, _you really do deserve to die._

Josh reads the text and does not think about where he will be in twenty-four hours. He knows, he knows where he will be, but he does not think about it. He has lost touch with the ability to _feel_.

He waits, surrounded by his white sheets, for tomorrow.

 

The orange sun dips below the earth. When it appears again on the other side of the world, casting its glow on Josh’s house once more, it illuminates a mother pulling a suitcase towards a car. The woman gets into the car, where Josh sits, and they drive off together. The exhaust left behind only contributes to the smoky yellow film that covers the neighbourhood.

 

When Josh and his mother arrive at the hospital, they find parking in the maze of vehicles.

_Why are we parking here? These cars belong to people who are sick, who are dying._

Josh’s brain answers itself. _We are parking here because you_ are _sick._ He wraps his arms around himself. He wears a grey sweater that he hasn’t taken off for the past few months. It’s too hot out for him to be wearing it and he is overheating, but the discomfort is not unwelcome. An added bonus is that it covers his wrists.

Entering the wide glass doors, they follow the signs that point toward the psychiatry unit. Upon entering it, Josh focusses in on the first thing he sees, a hand-painted picture of Apu from _The Simpsons_ leaning against a table. Imperfect brushstrokes, but done carefully.

A lady in nurse scrubs appears, takes the suitcase, mutters about having to search through it to make sure there isn’t anything dangerous. She leads Josh and his mother into a meeting room lined with school books.

She introduces herself. Her voice is friendly, calming.

Josh doesn’t hear it. He studies the stickers on the wall. They feature what someone evidently thought would be inspiring quotes. Some of the corners are peeling. He forces himself to pay attention to the nurse’s words.

“-no cell phones, but we have a phone you can use if you like, and you can have visitors during the day if you clear it with your doctor…”

There are no windows in the room. If there were, there would be blotches of yellow light shining onto Josh’s lap. He remembers that was how it was in the car. Here, the light that shines onto his lap is too white. He studies this, too, noticing if you look very closely you can see how the fibers and the threads intertwine to make up the fabric of his clothes. Josh pretends he has magnifying glasses for eyes.

He finds himself being lead out of the windowless room by the nurse. His legs move, independent from his mind, as he ponders the lighting out in this hallway and does not ponder the fact that he is being admitted to the mental hospital. Pot light, pot light, pot light. Nothing is made of glass.

They walk down a short hallway, stop outside his new bedroom. Once inside, Josh sits on the bed. His back is straight and his palms are sweaty and his body screams at his mind, _feelfeelfeelfeelfeel!_ His mind cannot hear.

The nurse leaves Josh to unpack his suitcase. She makes the gesture of closing the door to give privacy. The door doesn’t really shut though, and it swings open for nurses in the night and features a large glass bit for them to look through. The balloons his mother had packed for him in hopes of brightening up the room have been confiscated for his safety.

Josh’s mind takes in his new bedroom. His body curls up in the fetal position, pulls new white sheets over his legs. His mind surveys the walls, notices the tally marks scraped into the wall where a past occupant had counted their days being kept there. Like it’s a prison. He notices the window, covered in a layer of hard, translucent plastic. Notices the bed he lies on, the desk and chair and wardrobe and garbage can.

The translucent plastic allows some orange light through the window. He sets his books and ipod up on the desk and piles his clothes in the wardrobe. He tucks in the chair and sets the garbage can equal distances away from the wardrobe and the door. He sits back on the bed and watches the light creep around the room as the sun rises higher in the sky.

His door swings open just as the light reaches the edge of the desk. A boy stumbles in, one with wide eyes and fluffy hair and a high voice.

“I got you a flower.”

Josh stares. Forces himself to breathe.

The boy continues. “They took us on a walk around the parking lot this morning and there were a whole bunch of these growing so I didn’t think anyone would notice if I picked one. And then when we got back, I saw that there was a new kid. So I decided to give it to you. Here you go.”

He walks over to Josh’s desk and sets down a slightly wrinkled and bug-eaten morning glory.

A nurse calls tiredly from out in the hallway. “Tyler! If you’re going into other people’s rooms without permission again...”

“I’ll just be a minute!” He pulls the chair out from under the desk and sits down, leaning towards Josh. “My name’s Tyler. What’s your name?”

Josh swallows. _You can do this. Just say your name._ “J-Josh,” he whispers eventually. His voice is cracked from anxiety and disuse.

Tyler beams. “Hi, Josh. I’m Tyler. I tried to kill myself last week and got sent here.”

Josh doesn’t know how to respond. Tyler doesn’t seem to mind. “Ifyou want, I can try to find you a cup of water to keep the flower in. So it doesn’t die.”

Josh blinks. He thinks the flower is already pretty dead and that a bowl of water would just make it slimy. He smiles in thanks, though.

Humming quietly, Tyler relaxes back in his chair and looks around the room. One of his hands makes its way to his hair, twisting and pulling the strands.

The nurse finally appears at the door. “Tyler. You are not allowed to barge into Josh’s room like that. Out.”

She sweeps Tyler away. He calls behind him, “My room is next to yours! We’re neighbours!”

Josh watches their backs retreating, able to breathe with a bit more ease now that he’s alone. He picks the flower off the desk and places it gingerly onto a shelf in the wardrobe. Closes its door so that the nurses can’t see it when they walk by.

He resumes his spot on the bed, watching the sunlight and the shadows. The orange quality of the light slowly dissipates.

 

It’s not long before his nurse pokes her head through his door. "It's lunchtime."

So Josh follows her into the dining area. He sits in a chair at a dark purple table and looks around.

Fridge, sink, oven. Locked cupboards, trays of plastic cutlery set out on the counter.

Out the window is a courtyard surrounded by tall fences.

Josh thinks about the unit, about the logistics of it, about how his chair creaks when he adjusts his weight. He wonders how long he’ll be kept here, how he should be feeling about being admitted to the hospital . He comes to the conclusion that he is relatively apathetic to the whole situation.

Tyler appears. He walks to the fridge and pulls out a jumbo bag of frozen hash browns. He sits down at the dark purple table, reaches his hand into the bag, and starts eating.

Josh watches him as the rest of the patients trickle in. They take trays of hospital cafeteria food from a cart and sit around the dark purple table. One boy, who has dirty chin-length hair and too-long fingernails, struggles to bring food to his mouth because his hands shake so violently.

As soon as the nurses realize that Tyler is eating frozen hash browns, they take the bag away from him. He pouts.

 

Josh spends his afternoon curled up on a cracked leather couch, watching a group of kids bicker over TV shows. He learns a bit about each of them by listening to their conversations. One girl likes to paint and has gashes all up her forearms. There is a scrawny kid who didn’t show up to lunch who wants to dye their hair when they get discharged. A boy wrapped in a blanket challenges everyone to a game of scrabble after he shares a story about burning down a building during a psychotic episode. (He bonded with one girl over this: “Hey, my friend lived in that building! She’s homeless now. Small world!”)

The group laughs and makes fun of the wedding planners on the TV. A nurse brings in a bin of nail polish for a ‘self care session’.

Tyler wanders in soon after, planting himself on the ground in front of the couch. He looks up at Josh with wide eyes.

“D’you wanna paint my nails for me?”

Josh breathes. Breathe in, breathe out. Yeah, okay, he can do that. He’ll paint Tyler’s nails for him. Okay. Breathe in, breathe out. He mouths ‘okay.’

Tyler looks delighted. He turns around to pick out a color. “Whaddya think? Pink?” He giggles. “How ‘bout black.”

Josh takes the bottle, forces himself not to jump when Tyler rests his hand on Josh’s thigh. Slowly, carefully, he opens the bottle, gingerly taking Tyler’s hand in his. It’s cold. It’s shaking a little bit.

Josh looks up at Tyler, making eye contact for a millisecond before ducking his head down again. Slowly, carefully, he paints Tyler’s nails. He breathes.

“I haven’t worn nail polish in a while. I always pick it all off right away. I guess picking my nail polish off is better than pulling my hair out or something like I usually do, though, right?”

Josh nods. He’s beginning to warm up to Tyler’s babbling: the more Tyler talks, the less Josh has to. That works for him. He listens intently and holds onto Tyler's hand gently as he works.

When both of Tyler’s hands are done being painted, he flaps them around to make them dry. “Hey! I can’t touch my hair at all with wet fingernails, this is awesome! I should do this all the time!”

Josh grips the bottle of nail polish. It’s cold, smooth. He watches Tyler flapping. He tips the bottle upside down, tries to listen for the little metal ball moving around inside of it. He can’t hear it. He tips the bottle rightside up, upside down, rightside up.

 

Later in the day, Josh finds himself back in the meeting room, being asked what he wants to work on. Why he thinks he’s here, in the hospital. The nurse waits for an answer.

“Depression?” whispers Josh after a minute. His voice is high-pitched with anxiety.

The nurse nods. “Okay. What would you like to get out of your admission here?”

Josh’s voice wills itself to work. His hands sweat. His muscles tense. His fingers tug on his sleeves. His mind calmly watches a girl out the window. She’s sitting at the dark purple table, weaving a friendship bracelet. He tells his body to stop freaking out and answer the question already.

There are words in his throat, they are 10 feet tall, he can feel them enlarging and pushing tissue and veins aside. He tells himself to breathe in and breathe out, let the air dislodge whatever is in the way. The nurse waits patiently for this reply. Surely she can hear his heart beating.

Josh allows his body to shrink in on itself, desperately trying, through his body language, to communicate to the nurse that he cannot speak, he cannot, please leave him alone, you are going to get nothing more out of him.

Eventually, the nurse seems to get the message. She leaves him to calm himself down.

He just looks from the friendship bracelet girl, to the wheels of his chair digging into the carpet, to the pot lights on the ceiling. He tries to burn his retinas by staring up at them, but his vision always returns.

 

Back at the dark purple table, Josh sits down beside the shaky, long-haired boy and resumes his observation of the other patients.

The boy takes a few bites of salad before moving on to his desert. He seems to have less trouble eating the chocolate pudding than he does most food. When he finishes, he walks to the cart from the cafeteria and takes another bowl of pudding from someone’s untouched tray. He sits back down and digs in.

One girl tells everyone about how she tried to escape today, tried to climb the chain link fence out on the patio. She only got a foot or two off the ground before she gave up. The metal hurt her hands. She seems to get distracted by her own words, and switches subjects to the plants she saw on her walk this morning. She murmurs about the potted plants she has at home.

“Sometimes I break the flower pots,” she says cheerfully, “when I get mad. That’s why I’m here. My dad doesn’t like me breaking things.”

She looks at Josh. “Why are _you_ here?”

Silence. Josh can hear the cars driving down the highway outside. What is he supposed to say? _I’ve been surrounded by white for too long. My mom was worried I was going to kill myself. I wasn’t, I swear._

“It’s not polite to ask that.” The voice comes from one of the nurses.

Josh continues to eat, but he still listens to the cars. Part of him is hyperaware of his surroundings, on the brink of a panic attack, thoughts spiralling through his brain. Part of him is numb, uncaring, watching Tyler blankly. His nail polish is already scratched and peeled.

“Okay. Sorry,” the girl smiles.

Josh imagines standing out on the highway, surrounded by yellow light.

 

Josh’s evening is spent back on the couch, watching a group of kids watch TV. Other patients trickle in and out. He watches a kid who walks laps around the hallways of the unit again and again and again, as they have been all day, humming to themselves.

Tyler comes out of his room with his hair sticking up at odd angles. He’s wearing fuzzy pajama shorts with penguins on them. He looks like a little kid. Josh watches as he sits beside the phone in the dining area and calls his parents, tells them about his day. When he’s done, he goes over to Josh.

“I hate that my parents worry about me so much. I wish I wasn’t like this. I feel like I’m always hurting them.”

Josh breathes, marvels at Tyler’s ability to talk so openly. He shifts so that they’re sitting closer together. From here he can see thin red lines on Tyler’s thighs where his shorts ride up.

Slowly, carefully, he rests his head on Tyler’s shoulder. They sit, together, facing the window. Unspoken words are easier to say. They breathe together.

The sun is setting, now, and the clouds are so thick that you can look right at it. It’s a darker orange than it usually is, casting a warm, eery light through the windows. It soon disappears behind the trees.

 

Most of the patients are sat around the dark purple table. The nurses bring them their evening doses of medication, take some people’s vitals.

A nurse is making everyone tea. “Would you like peppermint or chamomile?”

“Peppermint,” whispers Josh.

The nurse brings him the tea, steam curling from the surface. He takes a sip, and it burns his mouth. He continues to drink it, swallowing his meds with it, the pain bringing comfort.

Along with the tea, he was brought a photocopied worksheet that lists emotions. _Circle all the emotions that you felt today,_ it reads.

Josh does, and the rest of the patients fill out their own. At the bottom of the page, he is instructed to write how many hours of sleep he got the night before, if he had eaten all of his food, if he had gotten any exercise, if he had thought about killing himself.

(Fifteen. Yes. No. It was better than some days, worse than others. It lingers in his mind sometimes, but it gets pushed down by the present. He writes no _._ )

Sleeping pills are handed out to those who ask for them, and everyone is herded towards their bedrooms. Josh lays down on the bed, turns on his ipod. It only contains five songs that play on repeat, and he puts them on at maximum volume. He doesn’t take off his grey sweater.

His body is surrounded by white sheets and his mind is surrounded by white noise, but it fizzles out as he falls asleep.

When the sun rises in the morning, the yellow haze it had the day before has disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this!! this is your friendly end notes reminder to take some deep breaths. Everything is gonna be ok. ♡
> 
> edit: ok so i wrote this pretty much identical to my personal experience. and i just (a few months later) found out that i'm autistic. and so josh in this is probably also autistic. there are some parts where it talks about him having anxiety, and in hindsight, those things are actually autistic traits. i'm not gonna take those parts out, but. just so u know if ur interested


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